Mr. Robert shrugs his shoulders.

"We can," says he. "I happen to know where he is at this moment." Then
he whispers, "Dining at the Tarleton; Miss Prentice is with him."

"Gee!" says I.

Maybe you've seen pictures of this young society queen that's annexed
Warrie? I had. That's why I took such a long breath before askin',
"Would you take a chance?"

"Eh?" says Mr. Robert.

Then, as the idea strikes in, he develops that eye twinkle.

"Why," he goes on, "I see no serious objection. Surely she might spare
him for five minutes. Yes, of course. You may have my taxi if you'll
drop me at the club first. Let's do it."

So that's how I come to be interviewin' a chesty head waiter at the
Tarleton twenty minutes later. From where I stood I could see Warrie
Mason well enough, but I has to write out a message and have it taken
in. Him and Miss Prentice are havin' dinner all by themselves, and
they sure make a swell-lookin' pair. Warrie he looks classy in
anything, but in evenin' clothes he's a reg'lar young grand duke; while
Miss Prentice--well, she's one of these soft, pouty-lipped, droopy-eyed
charmers, the kind you see bein' crushed against some manly shirt bosom
on the magazine covers. I watches her nod careless as Warrie explains
what's in the note, and the next minute he's out givin' me the cordial